Seeker's Shots 2
by Frank Waters
Summary: Season 5 submissions for Quidditch League as seeker for Magpies.
1. Into the Void

_**A/N:**_ _This is the Seeker from Montrose Magpies writing for QLFC Round 1._

 _Prompt: Write your Captain's NOTP - James/Lily._

 _Thanks to my team for looking through it._

 _ **Word Count:**_ _897 (+3 for the title)_

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ _I have no intentions of making money from this story, so all the recognisable stuff belongs to J.K. Rowling._

* * *

 **Into the Void**

" _Not Harry! Please … have mercy … have mercy…"_

It is remarkable how long a single moment of your life can stretch. Killing green light travelling two-and-a-half metres — that was how long it takes for Lily to see her whole life unfold in front of her eyes like a film on the big screen.

Playing with Petunia on a worn-out maroon rug in the nursery of their childhood home, their hair tied back in matching plaits.

Having play-fights with her sister, which soon turned into real ones that created fractures that they had never worked out how to mend.

Making her first best friend, who she thought would stay by her side for the rest of her life, and losing him.

Agreeing to marry the guy she once believed she hated.

Playing a grand prank on everyone with her fiance's best friends on the last day of school.

Holding her child for the first time in her life and seeing deep green eyes staring back up at her.

Celebrating her baby's first birthday in hiding.

Hearing the thump of her husband's dead body hitting the floor as she ran upstairs to save her son.

Begging for her child's sake, ready to give up everything if only he could live one more day.

And then — _snap!_ — as if she could hear the string of her life being cut. Her senses gave up one by one, and finally, impenetrable darkness enveloped her for a millisecond that seemed to extend for millennia, before giving way to blinding white light.

She does not hear the cold, cruel laugh of her murderer, nor does she hear the heart-wrenching cry of her son when her physical form doesn't get up to comfort him up.

All she can do is feel the warmth and coldness swirling around her spirit as vibrant colours pass around her at an unearthly speed that is, somehow, simultaneously fast yet snail-like. It is all surreal; it is the biggest wonder of the world and would have held her attention like that of a child who has spotted candy had her thoughts not been fixated on the well-being of own son.

Wandering in the void she can't make sense of, she tries to gather something — anything — together because she hates being so lost, hates not knowing anything.

And then, a searing hot feeling traverses through her form. Somehow, it is not painful, but instead immensely comforting. She turns around to discover its source, and surprise befalls her when she senses the presence of her soulmate.

"James." The voice is not materialistic — it is a whisper of the winds, felt more than heard — but the spirit of her husband moves towards her, gaining a form as it gets closer.

"Lily," he breathes, lips moving ever so slightly. "I have been waiting for you forever."

She is confused, but somehow, she knows time has no meaning in this void. "How is Harry?" she asks, wanting to embrace her husband but desperate to see their baby first. She knows he must be dead — there is no way he could have survived — but part of her holds out hope.

A sad chuckle escapes her soulmate. "Alive, but burdened with fate."

Lily sighs. She does not know whether or not to be happy her son survived. She is glad he still has a life ahead of him, but she is terrified of what will become of him without them there.

She replays each moment of her son's life that she got to be a part of in her mind, silently promising her son that she will never let go of those memories, that she will always hold them dear to her heart. She wishes she could go back to be with him, to love and and raise him like they had always dreamed, but she knows she has now reached a place from which there's no going back.

"Where are we?" she asks her soulmate, and feels immensely stupid the second the words leave her mouth.

James laughs, though, and seeing the small smile through the tears on his face makes her moment of stupidity worth it. "Some call it heaven," he says, sighing. "Others call this hell." He's quiet for a moment before he finally asks, "How are you?"

"You needn't have died," she says, ignoring the question. "You could have run."

"I could not have lived without you."

"Neither could I, had I survived," she counters. And then there is no stopping her.

A moment later, she is in her soulmate's now-solid arms, and his embrace is everything she wishes for. "Harry is alone," she says.

"He will have people to care for him. But we are together," James replies, his voice holding a promise that is never to be broken.

"Together," she whispers back, joining their lips in a soft kiss. For a moment, happiness fills her at the thought of spending the rest of eternity by James' side, free of pain. Then, that feeling is eclipsed by a sense of guilt and regret. Part of her feels like she is betraying her child by being so happy so soon, and tears leave her eyes as she thinks of Harry as she last saw him, scared and alone in his cradle. She wonders how long it will take for somebody to find him.


	2. When Wheels Start Turning the Other Way

_**A/N:**_ _This is the Seeker from Montrose Magpies writing for QLFC Round 2._

 _Prompt: Hogsmeade Station_

 _Thanks to my team for looking through it, and thank you, Cyp, for the title!_

 _ **Word Count:**_ _1254 (+7 for the title)_

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ _I have no intentions of making money from this story, so all the recognisable stuff belongs to J.K. Rowling._

* * *

 **When Wheels Start Turning the Other Way**

Dominique jumped down from the carriage before it could grind to a halt. Her legs were tensed, already prepared to run to make up for the lost time, but her eyes couldn't find her group of squabbling cousins anywhere nearby. She let out a huge sigh, her eyes scouring the platform once more to make sure they weren't waiting for her somewhere, and then dropped her gaze to the pavement she was standing on. Her toe absently rubbed at some old butterbeer stains.

She hefted her rucksack onto her shoulders and made her way towards the nearest door of the train as a warning whistle sounded out. For a moment, she paused, looking around for the last time — as a Hogwarts student, at least — at the measly little roof supported by four columns that formed Hogsmeade Station. It didn't look like much, but it had always been a place of excitement and joy, acting as a sort of liminal space between school and not-school. This time, however, it didn't have its usual allure.

It took her almost ten minutes to find her brother and her cousins — all cramped up in a single compartment; the lack of room meant that Lily was perched on James' lap. Dominique didn't bother knocking as she opened the compartment door, only for her brother to yell out: "Who have you been snogging _now_ , for you to take so long?"

She let out a loud breath as she turned to Louis — he knew perfectly well who she _would_ have been snogging, had she been actually doing that. "I was returning books to the library. You know Madame Pince would hex me into oblivion if I kept them." It wasn't technically a lie — she had done it earlier in the morning, but she knew that telling them the truth wouldn't do her any good.

She nudged Hugo, who was sitting near the compartment door, in the shin. "Stand up," she said, making full use of her height advantage. "You can sit on my lap."

"Bloody hell, no," he swore, wrinkling his nose as if she were some disgusting being. She flinched; she had expected the refusal, but not the disgust.

"Sorry, Dom." The apology came from Molly, who, despite being a bigger-than-Aunt-Hermione nerd, somehow fit into this mismatched group better than she did now. "The compartment's full." She gave Dom an apologetic look — at least, it looked like it was apologetic — before pointing at Scorpius, whose unmissable platinum blond hair Dominique had somehow missed when she came in.

She shrugged, not meeting any of their gazes, her eyes fixated on the little station that sat outside the compartment window. Shifting her heavy backpack again, she turned on her heel. It was easy to pretend that the rebuff didn't bother her, but Merlin, it did hurt! She had _always_ sat alongside her huge group of cousins during the past seven years of train rides, yet somehow, it had been easy for them to just kick her out — and on her last journey, too!

Thankfully, it didn't take long to find an empty compartment even though almost every student was on the train now. Sliding the straps of her backpack from her shoulders, she let out a sigh of relief and flung it onto a seat. She settled down on the opposite one, bringing her knees to her chest. The absence of the cumbersome bag felt like a weight had been lifted (quite literally) from her shoulders, but she couldn't shake the heavy feeling of rejection from her mind — or her heart, for that matter. She looked out of the window, staring at the town in the distance. Her mind pulled back memories of all the happy times she had spent there while she had still been a cherished member of the Potter-Weasley gang. They had always waited on the platform until the last person arrived so that they could all board the train together, and then they used to spend the whole train ride home laughing and reminiscing.

Before it had all changed.

Simply because she had brought a _girl_ home last Christmas.

Dating a girl — and a girl who was the daughter of a Death Eater, no less — had not gone down well with her family, bar Uncle Charlie, who had said he was glad she had found someone.

Her brother's reaction had hurt her the most. The two of them had always been close since Victoire had preferred Teddy's company over spending time with the ' _brats'_ (as she liked to call them). Before that day, she honestly could never have thought of having a _real_ fight with him, let alone him figuratively breaking all ties with her.

But Merlin, maybe Louis had been right? The tears that she had been holding back ever since that night finally spilled over her eyelids, making streaks down her cheeks as she thought back to the _true_ reason she had been late for the train.

" _So you're going to Romania?" Kelly's expression was neutral, except for her lips, which were pressed together so tightly that they had lost their colour. Dominique simply nodded. "Well, then, this is it."_

 _For a moment, Dominique couldn't process what her girlfriend was saying. She caught on soon enough, though. "A-Are you breaking up with me?"_

" _Isn't that why you came looking for me, bringing that news on the last day of the school year? Of our last year completely, actually."_

 _Dominique sighed, then sucked in a huge breath. "No. Okay. I was wrong. I should have told you earlier. B-But—"_

" _But what?" Kelly let out a humourless laugh. "You thought everything would be all right and I'd just kiss you and wish you good luck with a smile? You thought I'd wait for you while the dragons turn you into an asexual, female copy of your Uncle Charlie? Oh, and I wouldn't find out about that until the very last minute, too, right?"_

 _Dominique tried to reign in her anger, she really did, but hearing her idol insulted was not something she could take without snapping back. "Is_ that _really what you're worried about? Or are you simply making excuses?"_

 _Kelly's eyes blazed. "Fine, yes, I'm making excuses. I don't want to be with you. I figured out I like guys better. I've no doubt you'll feel that way, too, soon." She sneered. 'And I was going to come find you to tell you that, but you made it simply easier."_

It would be an understatement to say that that had not ended well — at all. There had been shouts and screams, and then there had been hexes flying about until some other seventh-year who had somehow been delayed as well had conjured a shield and dragged her away from there. All she had wanted to do was tell Louis about it, but then she had remembered that he didn't want to know.

So yes, maybe Louis had been right. Maybe she had been insulting Uncle Fred's memory — and that of countless others — by dating a Death Eater's spawn. And maybe she had been wrong in thinking it was right for girls to like girls.

The whistle sounded again, louder and clearer this time, and as the train started moving, she looked back to the station where she had once stood with a big smile on her face, excited to reach the castle, only to leave the same place, seven years later, in tears.


	3. From Minerva to Minerva

_This fic has been removed from the collection and has been posted as a separate story._


	4. Unforeseen Rescue

_**A/N:**_ _This is the Seeker from Montrose Magpies writing for QLFC Round 6._

 _Prompt: Matilda_

 _Thanks to my team for looking through it!_

 _ **Word Count:**_ _910 (+2 for the title)_

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ _I have no intentions of making money from this story, so all the recognisable stuff belongs to J.K. Rowling._

* * *

 **Unforseen Rescue**

The last place you would think to find a first-year student would be the Divination classroom, but that was exactly where little Matilda was currently hiding. She didn't even know why the new Defense Professor didn't like her. A lot of people hated that professor, and maybe Matilda herself had a teensy bit of hatred towards her as well, but she had never ever called her the 'pink toad' like the others did. None of her friends did, either, so it wasn't like she could be considered guilty by association.

She even turned her assignments in and made sure to follow all the decrees. _Every. Last. One._

A few weeks back, as she'd been passing the Pink Professor in the hall, she'd had this weird feeling that she had zoned out for a minute. The professor hadn't done anything except scowl at her and walk away, but the next day, at breakfast, when the professor's hair had turned pink (Matilda thought it matched her outfit), she had glared straight at the black-haired Ravenclaw. After breakfast, the Pink Professor had trotted up to her and said, "Detention at seven pm."

And Matilda didn't know why, but the quill the Pink Professor had given her had caused her hand to bleed. She didn't think quills were supposed to work that way, but when she had looked at the professor, the lady had just smirked and raised an eyebrow. It was almost like she was tempting her to cause a fuss — as if she would genuinely enjoy it.

Perhaps Matilda was wrong about the quill thing. She was new to the wizarding world, so she didn't know a lot yet.

But the hour of detention had hurt her hand so much and the scratches on her hand had stopped healing. When she left, she had met this lady that looked like some sort of insect. She wasn't sure if the woman was a professor as she had never seen her at the staff table, but the woman had been kind enough, so Matilda had followed her to this room that looked like it would be well suited for hosting an old-fashioned tea party.

When they were both seated at the table, this weird lady had said something that sounded like, "You have a perfect inner eye, my dear." Matilda didn't know what she meant, or how someone could have an eye _inside_ them, but the tea she gave her smelled nice and the biscuits were tasty, so when the lady said, "I foresee you coming here to visit me many times. You are welcome to practise Tessomancy here any time, dear," Matilda decided to ignore her eccentricities and take up on her offer.

Before long, the small, strong-smelling room became her hideout of sorts, with Matilda coming there every evening to enjoy the peace. Most of the times, she sat and worked on her homework, but there were times when the woman who lived here — at least, it seemed that way to Matilda — struck up a conversation. Matilda always enjoyed those days. The woman knew a lot of interesting things and was more than happy to explain them to her.

It was one of those days when Matilda was sharing a table with the woman. The lady was telling her about 'seeing' through tea leaves, and although most of it went over Matilda's head, she listened intently.

There was a knock on the door, followed by an all-too-familiar 'hem-hem'. The woman pushed the child under the table, but they weren't fast enough. Without even waiting for a reply, Professor Umbridge barged into the room as if she owned the place.

Within moments, the professor was holding the little girl by her ear, either not noticing or not caring that the girl's blue eyes were rapidly filling with tears. "Aha. I see that you have been conspiring to turn my students — Mudbloods, at that — against me, Professor Trelawney. I'm afraid this kind of behaviour is inexcusable."

Matilda tried to shake her head, but the grip on her ear was so tight that she couldn't move it at all.

The older woman — Professor Trelawney, apparently — stood up, too. She used her height to tower over the woman clad in pink. "I was only protecting a true Seer from those who would seek to extinguish the spark that lives within her before it has the chance to shine."

Professor Umbridge laughed at that, her shrill voice echoing around the cosy classroom Matilda had come to love. Still holding her by the ear, the tiny woman pulled the child out of the room and pushed her downstairs. Matilda fell down. She suspected that she had zoned out because, by the time she scrambled back to her feet, Professor Umbridge was levitating a trunk out of the room and loud sobbing could be heard from within.

Feeling horrified and sick to her stomach, she watched as Professor Trelawney was almost thrown out of the school. She couldn't have been more thankful to both the Headmaster and Professor McGonagall when they intervened, insisting that her friend be allowed to continue living there for as long as she wanted.

There were many things that Matilda didn't understand, some of which were happening to _her_ , too, but that night, she dreamed of Professor Umbridge being trampled upon and dragged away by some weird men who were, inexplicably, horses from the waist down.


	5. Unconventional

_**A/N:**_ _This is the Seeker from Montrose Magpies writing for QLFC Round 5._

 _Prompt: Periwinkle (as inspired by Moaning Myrtle): Write about a character forming a blossoming friendship with someone they wouldn't normally associate with._

 _Thanks to my team for looking through it!_

 _ **Word Count:**_ _1567 (+1 for the title)_

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ _I have no intentions of making money from this story, so all the recognisable stuff belongs to J.K. Rowling._

* * *

 **Unconventional**

"Lady Rowena." One of the maid-servants curtsied to her, and Rowena wrinkled her nose at the action; it felt far too much like grovelling for her to be comfortable with it. "Your father has sent for you."

She nodded in acknowledgement. As soon as the servant left (not without curtsying again, to her frustration), she glared at the muffled sound of giggling coming from her water closet before opening the door to let her partner-in-crime and best friend, Helga, out.

"It is about looking for a match for you, My Lady," said Helga. "I told you before."

"You know that it is Rowena to you — and why is Father doing this to me?" asked Rowena, not expecting Helga to be able to answer.

"I do not know," said Helga, with a sympathetic expression. "What I do know is that you would not like to go to a dinner wearing a man's breeches and tunic."

Rowena looked down at her attire and let out a small _oh_ , which had Helga laughing at her. Rowena frowned at her friend. "Wilfred said that a female unicorn was about to give birth to new foals. I couldn't not see that. And the gowns that Mother wants me to wear all the time don't work well in the forest."

Helga let out a soft laugh, her blue eyes shining. "I wish I could have accompanied you, but I was busy helping my mother in the kitchens."

"I know." Rowena sighed. She had all the time in the world to frolic about while her best friend worked, and now that Helga was finally free for once, her Father wouldn't let her be.

"You do not have much time to get ready — unless you want your father to send another summons. I should leave you to it."

Rowena huffed in frustration. "Okay. I will see you this evening."

"Of course, My Lady," said Helga, and before Rowena could complain about the form of address, Helga left the room with a cheeky wink.

Rowena oftentimes wondered if she should have been a cook's daughter like Helga, or maybe a peasant's. Like her mother, she had never gotten along with the other Lords and Ladies they met at dinners and parties; neither had she ever really liked the idea of separating people into commoners and elites.

The royalty were almost all selfish men and women who considered themselves too good to talk to the 'lowly class', and it was the latter Rowena preferred to spend time with. She especially steered clear of the wizards who boasted of being mighty knights and thought of women as ornaments to beautify their household.

Rowena shook those thoughts off. She had a dinner to sit through.

* * *

Rowena was ten minutes late when a servant announced her arrival.

"Welcome, Daughter," said her father as she reached the table, his eyes giving her the _do not think I didn't notice you were late, or that you are excused_ look that she was so familiar with. "Meet Lady and Lord Gryffindor and their son Godric."

Rowena curtsied to each of them; as much as she hated the tradition, she knew her father would feel mortified if she didn't go along with it. She had to suppress the urge to make a face when Godric stood up, bowed back, and pulled out a chair for her. Instead, she smiled and graciously accepted the seat.

The dinner was a tense affair. Somehow, Rowena managed to sit through it without any incidents occurring. Her father often commented on her 'clumsy' nature, and she was known to drop (at least) one piece of cutlery per meal.

"The night is still young," her mother said, speaking directly to her the first time. She had her own habit of 'forgetting' any social expectations that didn't suit her; she was just better at hiding it than her daughter. "You should go on a stroll with the young man here," she added, shooting down all of Rowena's hopes to go back to the forest.

"Of course, Mother." She stood and curtsied. Even though she hadn't spared him a single glance all dinner, she found herself taking Godric's arm and making her way towards the doors with him.

* * *

Aside from the occasional attempt at conversation from Godric, they walked across the grounds in a surprisingly comfortable silence.

"You survived dinner, I see, and I haven't spotted any major food stains, either!" The brunette turned at the sound of the familiar voice and smiled when she saw Helga emerge from behind a tree. A moment later, Helga's eyes fell on the young lord at Rowena's side and widened in horror. "Oh, I didn't realise you had company." Helga flushed a deep pink, then added, "My Lady," curtsying awkwardly before greeting Godric in a similar fashion.

Godric laughed, startling the two women. "I assume the two of you are friends? Do not fear; my lips are sealed."

Rowena turned to him, stunned by his reaction.

"What?"

The two friends shared a look, then Helga blurted, "You shattered Rowena's belief that all young lords are pretentious little — "

Rowena coughed pointedly, her normally impassive face flushing.

"Most of us are," Godric admitted, still smirking.

"And that doesn't include you?" Rowena asked once she had recovered from the momentary embarrassment.

The man crossed his arms. "What do _you_ think, My Lady?"

Rowena ignored the question, a plan forming inside her head. "Can you get my boots for me, Helga?" When the other two gaped at her, she added: "They told us to go for a stroll, but they did not restrict which routes we can take. The forest seems to be calling me."

"A rebellious woman," Godric said with raised brows. Not expanding on the comment, he added, "It will be my pleasure to accompany you to the forest, My Lady."

Helga snorted, then flushed and turned away. "The boots!"

* * *

Rowena had asked Helga to join them when the redhead returned, but she had said something about work before practically running away from her. If Rowena noticed the pink dusting her friend's cheeks, she didn't say anything.

The distance to the forest was once again scaled in silence. Godric tried to lead the way into the forest, his sword in hand to get rid of the undergrowth, but Rowena nipped that idea in the bud by snatching the sword and pushing him behind her. "I know the forest better than you."

"Oh, of course," he said and gestured for her to lead the way.

Rowena couldn't help but be surprised once again by how untraditional her companion was being. "What, no saying that I am a lady and should be following you instead of leading? Where is your masculinity, Lord Gryffindor?"

Godric laughed at that. "Forgive me, My Lady, but I like to believe men and women are equally capable of bravery, wit and leadership."

Rowena raised her eyebrows at him. "You are certainly not what I expected you to be."

Godric bowed as if receiving a compliment, and Rowena couldn't help but laugh with him.

The pair once again fell into companionable silence, the man humming a song under his breath and the woman unknowingly matching her steps to the tune.

"Stay here," Rowena whispered after a while, a hand extended to her left to stop Godric from moving forward. "The unicorns prefer a woman's touch — and this one is a new mother, so she might attack you."

"I can protect myself from an attacking unicorn, My Lady."

Rowena turned to face her companion. "It is the unicorn that I'm worried about."

The pair watched in silence, transfixed, as the mother, her coat shining a breathtaking silver in the moonlight, tended to the three little creatures who looked as if they were carved of pure gold and animated to move.

"They are magnificent, are they not?" Rowena asked.

"They are. No disrespect intended to your beauty, My Lady, but I have never seen such a divine sight before."

Rowena smiled and turned around to walk back to the castle, Godric following her. "I am not vain enough to compare myself to such a pure being's ethereal beauty." She paused, thinking over her next words, and then said: "If it is no offense to your honour, My Lord, I wish to inform you that I am spoken for."

"Oh?" Neither Godric's face nor voice revealed what he was thinking.

Rowena looked to the ground. "He is a peasant's son, and Father would never give us his blessing. Mother knows that I plan to elope once I come of age."

"Why are you telling me this, My Lady?" Godric asked, his face still impassive.

"That I do not know," Rowena replied.

"Well," said the man, "in return for not revealing this to your father, I hope you would not mind reintroducing me to your friend we met before?"

Rowena halted and stared at Godric, who had a small smirk on his face. After a minute, she laughed. "As long as you do not call me 'My Lady' out of Father's hearing range and promise to stay here to keep Father off my back until I come of age, I shall get a few meetings arranged for you and Helga."

Godric smiled. "Sounds fair, friend."

"Ally," Rowena corrected, though she had a feeling she would come to refer to Godric as a friend soon enough.


	6. Hope

_**A/N:**_ _This is the Seeker from Montrose Magpies writing for QLFC Round 7._

 _Prompt: Write about a Pureblood witch or wizard marrying a Muggle and learning how to use everyday Muggle technology like toasters, telephones or TVs._

 _Thanks to my team for looking through it!_

 _ **Word Count:**_ _969 (+1 for the title)_

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ _I have no intentions of making money from this story, so all the recognisable stuff belongs to J.K. Rowling._

* * *

 **Hope**

"What did you bring me today?" Isobel says as, emerging from the kitchen, she notices the big box in her husband's hands. They've been married for some ten odd months now, and though Robert doesn't make much from the job he has at the church, he still likes to bring her little gifts.

Isobel doesn't like him spending money on unnecessary trinkets, but whenever she voices that, Robert's face falls, and that's more unbearable than having less money to make by with.

But the box today is too big to hold a trinket, and Isobel's curious.

"It's a telephone," he says, his voice housing a rare excitement that's catching, and a smile breaks out on Isobel's face even though she doesn't know what a telephone is in the first place. And Isobel hasn't told him about her magical origins yet, even though the cover is getting more difficult to maintain with each passing day.

Her gaze turns to the small bump hidden under her dress. She'll have to tell Robert soon.

The man in question speaks again, which draws Isobel out of her thoughts. "It's one of the newest inventions and is in trend nowadays. They say our voices can travel long distances if we use this!"

Isobel thinks it sounds like a Patronus message spell but isn't certain. The good part is that even Robert doesn't seem too sure about this new thing.

"Really?" she asks, urging her husband to speak again.

"Yes," Robert breathes out. "They said we can even talk to someone who's at the church without even leaving our living room!"

With this, he places the box down, and for a man who throws a fit over lint on his shirt, he flops down carelessly on the floor. "They wanted to send someone to set it up," Robert continues as he starts to open the box, and then looks up at Isobel. The woman raises an eyebrow at him. "I… uh, I might have said we know how to use this thing — it's just a jumble of wires and metal, isn't it?"

Isobel presses her lips together. It's almost sweet how Robert doesn't want any other person taking away from the little time the two of them have together after Robert comes home, but she's not really impressed. Especially since she does not even know what _jumble of wires and metal_ means.

The man fishes through the box and pulls out a small book, looking sheepish. "There's a manual, too!"

"Well," Isobel says, "I'm not helping you with this, then!" She points to the manual. "Any help you need, get it from that book."

With that, she turns around and marches down the little space they call the hall and into the kitchen to get back to the vegetables she had been chopping for dinner.

She ignores the little protests that come from Robert every five minutes and tries to keep her focus on making the soup. But each time she thinks she's slipped away from her thoughts, her mind berates her about how she cannot fool herself, insisting that the true reason she's left Robert alone in the living room along with that box is that she doesn't know the first thing about whatever is in it.

She thinks of her elm-and-unicorn-hair wand stowed away in the little trunk that keeps all of her items from the world she left behind, thinks of her family and how they disowned her for falling in love with a Muggle, thinks of what will happen once her past and her present collide.

It is Robert's loud cry of, "I give up!" that stops her train of thoughts, and she can't help it — she turns off the stove and marches back to where her husband is sitting, staring at a weird _thing_ , wire somehow wrapped around his middle.

As Isobel sits down next to it, she wonders how much use she would be with the thing, but watching the frown that has replaced the initial excitement on Robert's face, she decides that it doesn't matter. Regardless of how annoying it can be when he splurges on gifts that they don't need rather than focusing on what they do, she loves him and doesn't like to see him disappointed.

She takes Robert's hand in hers and gives it a squeeze. "I don't think this little thing can win against us."

Robert looks back at her and smiles. "Of course not, love."

Isobel takes the book from his hands and starts leafing through it. She doesn't understand more than half the words, but Robert helps her decipher it, no questions asked. Together, they learn through the little book, and three tough hours later — dinner long forgotten and cold — they think they have it down.

Robert traces the digits written on the back of the book. "The shopkeeper said to 'dial' this to check if the 'telephone' works."

Isobel sighs, then smiles tiredly at him. "I have a feeling it will."

It takes them longer than it should to figure out how exactly to dial, cries of, " _It's a two after six and not three!"_ and " _You missed the one!"_ ringing through the small living room, but they eventually make it through the whole string of numbers.

They press close together, somehow managing to fit two ears in the space meant for one, and the long _trinnn… trinnn…_ is like music to their ears.

" _Hello —"_

Isobel pulls back, letting Robert do the conversation part. As she picks herself up from the floor where they're still sitting, hope blooms in her chest. If a Muggle and a Witch can learn how to make a Muggle device — a _telephone_ — work together, then maybe they can make this mixed marriage of mundane and magic work together, too.


End file.
